The Thing about Science is
by KaJhLs
Summary: Draco becomes Harry’s prisoner but on the way to the International Court they run into trouble and end up living together in a small cottage…What will happen when their isolation grows and their past stars to blur? Slash


It's amusing in a way that such a muggle thing as science has shaped me so much. Daddy professed to hate science and yet he constantly used it to enforce his thoughts and commands, as if somehow telling me some almost-less-than-animal human in a silly white coat had found out would make me listen to him more. Daddy said he hated muggles, and indeed he spent most of his life rising to power through their death, and yet I never saw him smile the way he did (when he thought nobody was looking) when he got some new, obscure, state-of-the art little machine that would help him look into the ways of the universe. Mother always said that if he was so determine to spend his life on his knees (I hope she meant bowing to Voldermort and not some cruder, and DISGUSTING vulgarity such as Blaise, with an unladylike wink, would have used the term to mean) he would have been a master at potions.

Daddy first explained homosexuality to me when I was ten, right after he caught two garden boys going at it behind the pool house, like a pair of bunny's in heat.

"Draco, my son, sit down." I had sat, across from him – for the first time more interested in what I had seen than the awe inspiring sight of Lucius Malfoy's beautiful, antiquitated lounge.

"Draco, did you understand what you just saw?" He asked me, smoothing back his long fair hair. Now, I understand that if it had been any other man speaking this would have be a nervous gesture, who isn't nervous about explaining to their young son the workings of lust and sex for the first time? However, my father is not one to get nervous, he knows what ever he says will be accepted so he doesn't bother.

"Two men…on top of each other." I answered squeakily, searching for the adequate words as I also tried to cover my blush (Rule 33 of the Malfoy Hand Book, "Malfoy's never blush when speaking of intimate matters.")

"Yes, Draco. They were having sex. Do you know what that means? No? Ask your mother. (Mother wouldn't speak to him for three days after she, blushing – she was a Black after all -, had to explain to me about "when two people love each other very much…or when they are very rich and have pure blood…") Well, son all you need to know is what those men were doing was very unnatural." I don't think I even knew what unnatural meant at the time, and, not understanding what sex was, this had even less meaning to me,

"Sex should only be enjoyed between a man and a women, and only after they are married."

"Daddy, why was it unnatural?" I asked, more about interrupting what I could already tell was going to be a long rant then because I actually cared. Unfortunately, daddy seemed to interpret my words to mean that I had seen nothing wrong with what the men were doing rather than simple misunderstanding and he began to scream at me. He was more angry than I had ever seen him, his face turning the same color as an overripe plum and spit flying everywhere, it terrified me, I had never seen my dignified father so…well, undignified.

"You are a sick, sick little boy – and you get that idea out of your mind right now or I will send you to Dumstrungs, whatever your mother might say! Look at it from a scientific point of view, opposites attract – H (two) O – positives and negatives. A man is a positive and a woman is a negative, two positives never go together, do you understand? NEVER! If I ever hear that you are caught with another boy, you will be disowned, do you understand?"

I know now that most people say that being gay is something you are born with, not controlled by your environment or whatever. But for years after that I believed that it was my father's little speech that turned me gay. I told myself I would never look at another boy if it hadn't been for the fact that I was a natural rebel and I HAD to do what my father had so clearly told me not to.

Well that and Potter.

I met the Boy- who-lived-to-make-ME-live-in-misery for the first time when we were eleven, a little bit before we went to Hogwarts. I am sure you have all heard the story now – when Harry captured me and put me in Azkaban every newspaper told the story of our first meeting. What they didn't tell was how when I first saw him, my robes got tight around me and I became so flushed that I began coughing up words to think about anything else, even about the look of disgust on the other boy's face.

Theodore says he didn't get his first erection until he was thirteen – many of the other Slytherin's say the same. But I was eleven and it was when I met Harry. I don't know why. He wasn't that good looking, that well dressed or that smart or anything, it was more like… well, like Jesus. I went into a muggle church once and I saw him hanging on his cross and I felt nothing, but next to me was a small, wizened old lady who looked up at him like he was her long lost lover and she was just waiting for him to claim her.

That's what I felt with Harry. I knew there was something different about him, something special – All those fears that I tried to repress when daddy talked about Voldermort and killing and the other stuff, it was like they were all erased when I looked into Harry's innocent eyes. So innocent. They were like the eyes of a newborn. I mean of course he had feelings, he hated me on first sight, I think, or at least after I insulted that oaf Hagrid. But they were somehow…shallow? Is that the right word? His eyes were like looking into the Caribbean (my dad brought me for my seventh birthday), when the water you look down and even if its shallow you can't see the bottom because the sand is so shallow. Anyway. Nobody I had even met look innocent like that.

When I saw him last, his wand aimed at my neck, his eyes were no longer innocent. Just empty.

So, then he rejected me and I hated him and he hated me and everybody was happy…except me. Yes, it didn't go away. I thought it would – I mean Potter might be everybody else's hero, but he sure wasn't mine. He tormented me endlessly, he was unspeakably cruel. What? I can see you asking yourself, what is he talking about? It was the awful Draco who lured him to a duel and tried to get him suspended and insulted his dead parents and broke his nose, blah blah blah. Yes, it was. Because he never tried to save me. He never cared to find out if there was more to me then the silly little boy who had insulted his new friend on the train – he was willing to let me be the evil, horrible little Slytherin and I hated him for that.

Because, yes, I did lust for him. I admit it, the way my pants grew tight when ever he would give me a particularly venomous look or snarl at me. I admit that when I would wake in the moment, drenched in sweat and tangled in my sheets, it would be his face that lingered in my mind even as I took the silencing spell from my bed. And finally I admit that I liked hurting him because it made me think, at least for a moment, that my hate was more than my lust and I would still be able to kill him if I had to. I wasn't able to and hear I am – writing my story on the floor of a dark and empty Azkaban cell as I wait for a Dementor to kiss my parents (you know, never once did I see them kiss each other? I wonder if they never kissed when they had sex either. Ew. I was brought by a stork.stork.stork.stork.) Oh, wait, where was I? Oh yes, so my parents are about to be kissed and I wait – wondering what my fait will be and how I will die. I hope I don't cry, but I probably will. How humiliating. Hmm, my hand is starting to hurt and I just realized that I don't have a wand to hide this writing and somebody is coming in, oh please don't let it be…

**Moxie,**

**Ok it's a silly name, but it was silly to buy a diary. I am a boy for gods sake. A man. I don't feel like a man. But once you have killed you must be a man, right? I am eighteen, I barely have to shave – my voice has barely cracked and I am can't think of myself as a man.**

**Damn Hermione, for making me going to see that sniveling, faker of a therapist, I can hear his voice, trying to analyze me. As if any man who hasn't killed can understand me. "Harry, could it be that you don't accept your adulthood because it would mean accepting your responsibility?" I can hear his whispering, even though I was the only one in the room. Why did he feel a need to whisper? Did he think that somebody was listening in our conversation, fascinated by the depths the great Harry Potter has sunk to. **

**The great. That's kind of funny. Nobody was calling me great when I staggered off the field of death, Voldermort's stinking blood covering my body. They cowered from me, Hermione, Ron, Ginny. Hermione and Ron came back – like they always do. They stood by me then and they stand by me now as I rid the world of the rest of that deatheater filth. But not Ginny. Ginny. I loved her. Love her maybe. I remember her when she was beautiful and brave. Now she cowers from me and can't leave her room. She dresses in her old nightdress and hugs a teddybear like its her life line. Nobody knows what happened to her but Molly says she was covered with blood too, her own. She cam back two weeks before me and the first time she talked was when she saw me. **

**Who says that writing in this fucking Journal helps. What is the point of dredging up old memories?**

**Moxie,**

**I feel you calling to me. I need to write. I can't burden Hermione and Ron with this stuff. It's too personal for them. And I don't trust anybody else.**

**Today I captured Draco fucking Malfoy. Heir of Slytherin and all things evil. Or was that good old Tom Riddle? I can't tell the difference anymore between that scum. **

**When I last saw him he was running with his tail between his legs and I felt sorry for him. I thought that he, like me, had a destiny he couldn't escape. Then I found those horocruxes and killed voldy and all that and all my sympathy was gone. I lay in St. Mungo's and I decided that if I ever escaped it would be Draco I would kill first. Malfoy. Malfoy who let those deatheaters in and who was responsibal for taking Hogwarts and Albus from me. **

**It didn't work out that way of course. It's been a year since I shot Voldermort and I have killed a death eater for every month since. **

**I wasn't out looking for Malfoy. Any of the Malfoys. I was getting a strawberry scone, and chatting up the waitress. It gets awful lonely without Ginny and…well I have tried substitutes, um _paid_ substitutes but its not the same. Anyway, so I am sitting there and I look up at this blond.**

**And I knew it was him. Even though all I could see were a few strands of his hair. I went crazy I think, I didn't even care that all those other people were watching. I walked over to him and slammed him the nose.**

**His chair fell over. He didn't move. I kicked him. "Get up Malfoy" I sneered.**

"**Well, if it isn't Mr. Too-good-to-die Potter." He sneered, looking up at me through over that aristrocratic nose. How can he look so annoyingly snobbish when his nose is broken? **

"**You are arrested, Malfoy." I snapped, and I heaved him to his feet. His flesh burned my skin, I was so disgusted with having to touch him. It took all my will power not to…**

"**Arresting me, Potter? What did I do to deserve this? I thought your usual method was to kill first and ask questions later? I always thought it was something you learnt on the knee of dear old Voldermort…"**

**In a second I had him pinned against the wall, one of my hands cutting off my breath as I hissed**

"**Never compare me to him. DO you understand?"**

**I don't know what would have happened next if somebody hadn't apparated to the ministry. Before I could hurt Malfoy anymore, Ron and Hermione were there…**

**Moxie,**

**Sorry. Anyway, so Hermione and Ron pulled me off him … Ron and Malfoy exchanged words (it almost made me nostalgic for Hogwarts) and we dragged him off in chains to Azkaban to await trial. Tomarrow. **

**  
His mother and his father died today. They both received the kiss. For some reason I had to tell him. It was quite strange and I shall write about it now, in the dingy Azkaban bathroom. Who cares what that guard thinks?**

"**Draco Malfoy." I greeted him, entering the cell, greeting him the way I would greet any prisoner. He lay sprawled across the floor, his limbs akimbo. My irritation quickened as he raised a carefully plucked eyebrow at me in question. He was dressed in the soiled, gray robes of a prisoner and I could not understand how I still got the impression that he was looking down at _me_.**

"**Yes?" He drawled, as if sitting in the Slytherin common room, waiting to be admired rather than find out the sentence of his parents.**

"**Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were kissed today at 13:00." I told him, trying to sound businesslike but not sure I managed. He shrugged. HE SHRUGGED! What kind of monster shrugs when they find out their parents have died? Or, not died, but worst?**

"**Malfoy, your parents have been KISSED, by DEMENTORS!" I practically yelled, wondering if the affect of Azkaban had made him lost the little intelligence he had.**

"**Oh, now I understand! I thought you were talking about their sex lives!" Malfoy simpered up at me but I noticed the beginning of anger in his tense posture as well. For some reason it brought me right back to the fury I felt at Hogwarts and I couldn't help poke at it.**

"**So the rumors were true than? About just who warmed Lucius' bed? Afraid that somebody was trying to steal Daddy's affections? Don't worry, _Draco_, Daddy will be waiting for you…oh wait…no he won't." I smirked as I saw Draco trying to restrain himself from leaping at me. Briefly, I wondered why, he didn't even bother shifting.**

"**Shut the fuck up, Potter. You know nothing about me, because you are a self-involved, conceited, big-headed, egotistical, four eyed, bastard!" I could feel my anger rising to meet his but I kept my cool, I knew what would annoy him most.**

"**My, my _Draco_, so much venom. Could it be that you are covering up for other…feelings? I mean I am no Lucius Malfoy, but…" I pretended to preen. I remember only to well the curse which Draco hit Ron with when he instigated that he was a queer when we were in third year. It was the only time I could remember Draco completely losing his cool. He had gotten detention for _months_.**

**I was right. He launched himself at me. Scratching at my face, biting and squirming. It only lasted a second, then the guards were there, freezing him as I straitened my clothes and tried to look confused.**

"**Sorry, men. I don't know what happened. I was trying to tell him about his parents as gently as possible and he just leapt at me. Perhaps he has gone crazy? You might see about moving him into a more secure cell."**

**They nodded reverently at me and we parted ways. But not before I noticed that the floor where Draco's limp body lay upon was covered with tiny words. I didn't have time to look closely but I definitely noticed my name several times. What could Draco Malfoy possibly be writing about me? **

I am in a small cottage by the sea. I write with a quill on parchment and my wrist does not ache from the pushing of broken stone into soft cement to scratch out my thoughts. Instead I can write with the luxury that once was afforded me and now is but a bare pretense of freedom which I have long lost.

I have a bedroom to myself, pretty and sweet like that from a story tale. Yet it affords me no happiness for I am still a prisoner.

I was to be sent to France for my trial. A new international court had been set up and they decided to test it with my case. Harry Potter was to bring me.

Not once did he look at me as I was pushed into the carriage (we could not apparate because well, I am _Draco Malfoy_ and somehow I might have been able to loosen myself from Harry and apparate somewhere like, I don't know, Hawaii. I guess they don't realize that with skin like mine I could never live somewhere as sunny as Hawaii, I would look so plebian – burnt as red as that god-awful Gryffindor sweater that Potter is wearing even now), and he climbed in across from me.

For an hour we rode (I assumed we were heading towards a ship) and eventually I grew bored and tried to converse with Harry (as in I insulted his parents, his mudblood friend, and the Weasle) but he, infuriatingly, ignored me.

Then we heard a noise. A band of deatheaters attacked the carriage, I recognized my aunt, Bella, and for a moment I hoped that it meant I was to be saved. But even as the other auror in the carriage fell, Potter grabbed hold of me and apparated me….here.

I am not really sure where we are, or why we are staying here instead of not apparating to France. All I know is that Harry sent off a letter and when he got when back he turned quite red and has been in a temper ever since. He shoved me in here and locked the door and I haven't been able to leave. It's been several hours and I am quite hungry.

The room is quite different than my room at the manor (which I hear Harry burnt down in a fit of anger, I wonder if I am found not guilty, which is probably not going to happen, if I can sue him for it? I hear he has a lot of money, hard to believe when you see the clothes he wears…do I have any money left or have they frozen it all now I am a prisoner?), my room at the manor was very elegant and cold, like all the rooms. It was all mahagony and silver (gold is far too Gryffindor) and snake motiffes. I wonder if Potter ever thinks about things in Slytherin terms. Does he ever see a specific shade of green and think of our noble house?

Does Harry think? He doesn't seem to. Surely he must not write, the way I do, it is not plausible that he has two thoughts to rub together, and even if he did they would be lost in that mound of hair. Wild hair. Sexy hair.

I hate this. Potter has humiliated me. He has captured me and my life now rests in his hands. So why do I still want to feel those hands, stroking and rubbing me? Why do I still want to see those ugly, ill-fitting clothes of his pooling to the floor as we fall upon each other.

That is so disgusting. And unnatural, as my father would say. Why Potter? It's not like I am attracted to boys…or girls. I never feel lust for ANYBODY else, I never dream of anybody else, I never…dare I say it…want anybody else.

….Not that I would take him if he offered himself to me. Not that he would. I don't want to have a relationship with him. With anybody. I don't like his personality, I don't like him. I just think he's good-looking, sexy. What's wrong with that? I bet some Jew somewhere was attracted to Hitler (if he shaved that mustache thing…), or whatever. It doesn't make me abnorm….

"Malfoy." Harry greeted his prisoner and the blond was reminded of how the other boy had entered his cell and told him the news of his parents, a small smile playing around his lips like it was cause for celebration. Well, for Harry it probably was.

"Potter." Draco returned his greeting, not having enough energy to think of an insult. His stomach was growling, he hadn't taken a bath in weeks and his hair was a mess- he didn't want anything beyond a meal of hot food and a bathroom stuffed with hair products.

"Come here." Harry ordered, not moving from the door as he glared at Draco.

"Are you going to tell me why we are here?" Draco asked, looking away from Harry insolently, even while hiding his parchment under his pillow.

"Yes." Harry rolled his eyes and Draco smirked at him, wondering how much it cost the war hero to give him anything, even information. Still, smirking Draco followed the ex-Gryffindor into the kitchen and sat down at the large table.

"Get me some food." Draco ordered, enjoying the way the sun beat down at him from the large sunroof overhead.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, his voice dangerously soft.

"I said to get me some food. I am about to die of starvation." Draco repeated, not at all intimidated. When you have seen somebody crying over the dead body of another student its hard to be scared by them…even if they are the reason for your imprisonment.

Harry glared at him but he began opening up cupboard doors and getting out things to eat.

"So…" He started but Draco interrupted him.

"No. First I will eat. And then I will shower, and brush my hair. Then you can tell me." Draco knew that he had no control here, he had no wand and Harry did – but he also realized that there was no point just going along with Harry's commands, he would rather kill himself.

Fortunetly, Harry found his comment humorous rather than insulting and, snickering, said,

"You care more about your hair than finding out why we are here." For a moment, Draco was going to deny it but then he looked up into Harry's eyes and saw that shadow of innocence and playfulness that used to be there when they were students and couldn't stand the idea of making it disappear,

"'Beauty is a form of Genius – is higher indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation.'" Draco didn't like the way Harry was looking at him, considerably, without his usual hatred. It made him feel like a pig, being examined to make sure he was fat enough.

"Oscar Wilde? Ring a bell?" He snapped. What had happened to the Harry who had insulted him in his cell, that Harry had been crackling with anger and fury and hurt and all other emotions that Draco could relate to. Now Harry looked…almost happy, as if he didn't mind being here with his worst enemy, hearing him quote Wilde at him.

"What ever." Harry sighed, but the twinkle didn't leave his eyes. Draco was reminded rather unnervingly of Dumbledore. "Anyway you can wash and mess with your hair or what ever later, I want to tell you this stuff now."

"_Want_," Draco drawled, "why, Potter, I never knew you cared,"

"Wow, that's a knew one," Potter muttered but Draco ignored him

"Is there something you want to tell me about all those fights, all those times you would push me, punch me…_touch_ me." Draco winked at the flabbergasted Harry who glared back.

"Malfoy, just because you're a fag doesn't mean everybody is."

"Fuck you!" Draco spit back, his head is pounding and he can't believe that he can't come up with a retort…maybe because its true? A little voice asks him, but he ignores it, pushing back his chair and flouncing into the bathroom.

"Malfoy, get back in here!" Harry yelled after him, but Draco had already slammed the door shut, barring it from his unlikely intruder.


End file.
